


My Lucky Star

by Clarounette



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarounette/pseuds/Clarounette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael will soon start filming the new X-Men movie. But he doesn't know much about his future co-star, James McAvoy.<br/>Maybe he'll watch some movies, just to get the man's method of acting.</p><p>There's only one problem: James is way too attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lucky Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mcfassy Spring Fest on LJ, prompt #12:  
>  _Before working together on X-men, one of the boy's collected a bunch of the other's movies to study their acting style._  
>  _Cue an epically long wanking session over the movies, and the awkward aftermath when meeting on the set._
> 
> I'm sorry for the OP: it was supposed to be porn. But I started vomiting words, and added a glimpse at Michael's (imaginary) daily life. I hope it's still okay.

Passing the plastic bag from one hand to the other, Michael rummages through his pockets to find his keys. ‘What the hell!’ he thinks. He’s pretty sure he put them in his right pock… Yes, finally! He pulls them out and opens the door.  
He closes it with his foot as he throws the keys on the little table in the hallway. Home sweet home. He frowns, sniffing the air. Ugh, not so sweet. He puts the bag on the table too and goes open all the windows. The air is stale and smells of dust. He’s been absent for too long.  
While in the bedroom to air it too – he should also change the sheets – he tosses his bagpack on the bed. With the window wide open, the noises from London’s streets fill the room. People talking and shouting, cars roaring, rain falling. Oh right, he’s still damp from the pouring outside. He should change his clothes.  
He has really missed London.

After putting on a loose t-shirt and old sweat-pants, he goes back to the entryway to retrieve the plastic bag. What’s inside is his homework and he should get to studying soon if he wants to do a good job.  
He was still in Los Angeles when he received the phone call. THE phone call, the one that could probably change his whole career. Matthew Vaughn and the rest of the staff of the new X-Men movie had deemed him capable of impersonating the young Erik Lensherr aka Magneto. Succeeding Sir Ian McKellen is already quite a challenge, but he has to share the screen with James McAvoy, and he knows the guy is talented.  
It’s still just hearsay though. The screen test they did together was too short for him to witness the whole extend of James’ talent. Of course he had watched Atonement when it was released, because he’s nothing if not a movie fan and this film had good reviews. Great reviews actually. But maybe he was too taken with the story at the time; he hadn’t noticed any of the actors. Some may say they played so well they became the characters.  
So he doesn’t really KNOW how good McAvoy is. Nor what his method is exactly. They’re supposed to have the best chemistry if they want to make Charles and Erik’s relationship believable. They should attune their acting method.  
That’s why he bought several DVDs before he took his plane back to England. Now he has to watch them and learn about James’ acting skills. Before he sees him again on Monday for the first reading of the script. Only three days.

But it’s too late for now. Jetlag is starting to affect him, as he hides his yawn behind his hand; it’d be stupid to begin watching the movies right away.  
Michael takes the bag to the living room and makes a neat pile with the DVDs near the TV set. Five movies. Five different genres so he gets a better knowledge of his future co-star. Five features that fans had recommended on various boards for various reasons. Tomorrow, as soon as he awakes, he’ll sit in front of the TV and do his homework. Unexpectedly, he doesn’t mind too much.

*****

The sun is peaking behind the curtains, already high in the sky, when Michael opens an eye. It must be noon, maybe even early afternoon. That means he has slept around the clock. Damn. He has so much to do today, and now so little time.  
Michael stretches his limbs, groaning at the pain in his shoulders. Spending several hours in a plane had done a number on his back. He knows his hair is in complete disarray and dreads the moment he will look at his reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. Lack of sleep for a couple of days – the reason he slept so late today – resulting in dark shadows under his eyes, weird hair-do and dry lips, he must be a sight.  
He rubs his face with both his hands, trying to wear the sleep off his mind. He can’t stay in bed any longer. Maybe a shower will help.  
He discards the shirt and the boxer he wears in bed and steps inside the bathroom. The white tiles are cold against the sole of his feet and a shiver runs up his back. He’s not sure anymore if he’d bear a cold shower, and settles for lukewarm. The tepid water soothes his sore shoulders and wakens him a bit more at the same time.

When he has dried himself and dressed in jeans and a sweater, he goes to the kitchen and makes coffee. As the hot beverage is silently filling his old coffee maker, the strong aroma filling the air, he walks to his TV and grabs the DVD at the top of the pile. Right. It will be Inside I’m dancing then. He puts the disc in the player and lets it run while he serves himself a large dose of caffeine. If he wants to watch at least three movies before dinner, he’ll have to fast-forward most of them. The movie fan in him revolts against the idea, but he doesn’t have the choice. He’ll watch the movies properly later, when he’ll have the time. He takes his mug and goes back to the living-room.  
He’s almost seated when his stomach begins to rumble. He sighs at the sound. He doesn’t usually eat anything at breakfast, but the amount of food he ate the night before was bird-like. He chooses a box of stale cookies in one of the kitchen boards. He should definitely go grocery shopping tomorrow.  
The DVD is stuck on the menu, on the image of two wheelchairs side by side, a somewhat cheery folk music in the background. He doesn’t know if the movie will be funny or sad with that kind of premises, so he takes the DVD box and looks at the front. He startles at the sentence at the top: from the makers of “Billy Elliot”. Okay. “So it’ll be a roller-coaster of emotions” he says aloud. He grabs the remote and sits on the sofa.  
He looks around and thinks for a second: food, energizing drink, he has turned off the coffee maker, his bladder is empty for now. He’s ready for the next hour and a half at least. Then he punches the Play button of the remote.

He distractedly reads the credits at the beginning while sipping his piping hot coffee, noticing the Irish Film Board in the list. A fond smile stretches his lips. Interesting. It’s not like he’s a patriot or anything, but it’s nice to know his former homeland hasn’t given up financing good projects. He almost regrets leaving the country. Almost. Because he isn’t sure he would be where he is now if he had stayed in Ireland. He’s been living in London for… more than ten years now, but he still considers Ireland as his home. When he’s down, when he needs comfort and love, he goes back to Killarney and sleeps in his old room above the restaurant, and his parents always welcome him.  
But then a voice starts talking off-screen, and Michael focuses on his TV.  
The first minutes of the film show what must be the main character and his struggles with his handicap. The moderately funny gag – an elderly woman falling – can’t hide the large amount of pathos the writers seem to have poured in the script, generously accentuated with the melancholic piano tune playing in the background. Michael isn’t against that kind of drama, but he isn’t in the mood for it right now, less than an hour after waking up. He hopes it isn’t the only thing the movie has to offer.  
And then another character is introduced and it takes Michael a few seconds to recognize the guy he has met during his audition. Is that really James McAvoy? He has the whole wheelchair thing pinpointed, alright – that can become handy for playing Professor X. But bleached hair? With spikes? And a nose ring? That can’t be right. Ugh, and what with that awful punkish outfit.  
Then he speaks. Michael’s eyes – and his ears, obviously - widen. He has heard James’ natural Scottish accent at the audition, and was actually charmed by it. Paired with his large joyous smile and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, Michael has even thought the guy was much younger than he really was. How can he pull such a good Irish accent? It’s just spot on. Michael thinks of some childhood friends he has kept even now, back in Killarney, and how their accent would pale against James’.  
Now Michael seems to grasp the concept of James McAvoy’s talent. The guy is almost a genius.  
He doesn’t mind anymore the hour and a half of this movie he has yet to watch.

He quickly discovers how much James’ character is a cliché, and how much he loves him nonetheless. Rory O’Shea isn’t a rebel. Not really. He’s a lost little boy who doesn’t know how to deal with his situation, with his mortality and his infirmity. Strong language and disrespect, provocation, are the only ways for him to exist in a world which will forget about him the moment he dies. He’ll leave nothing behind: no child, no productive work, nothing. Disappearing without a trace, isn’t that dreadful?  
In the course of the movie, Rory learns that he can still make a difference. He can help people less fortunate – if you consider being capable of moving only two fingers and being promised a certain and painful death at an early age is somehow a good thing. And Rory starts being a support for the other character. Named Michael, he notices – it does weird things to him when James says his name in the film with his Irish accent.  
Rory makes friends. And at the end, he’ll live in the heart of people he had known.  
Michael doesn’t try to hold back his tears when the credits start. James was absolutely marvellous. His whole face could express all the subtleties of the character: eyes, mouth, a twitch in his jaw, flaring nostrils, a frown – even his eyebrows can act, for fuck’s sake! Not that he could use any of the other acting artifices. He couldn’t move his body at all, after all.  
And he can’t argue with the girl saying he’s got lovely eyes at the beginning of the movie. It was a prominent feature of him, that’s right.

Michael needs a break before the next movie. He’s afraid he won’t be able to fully appreciate it if he’s still strongly emotionally affected by Inside I’m dancing. He takes his cigarettes and a lighter and walks out on the balcony.  
Looking at the grey sky above him, he inhales a lungful of smog and coughs. He had forgotten the pollution of London’s air. But he can’t complain: he’s about to fill his lungs with an even worse substance.  
He knows he should stop. For once, tobacco will soon stain his teeth. They’re one of his strongest assets, he doesn’t want to have to resort to any dental work any time soon. He doesn’t want to think about his health either: so many years of smoking are bound to have damaged his organs somehow.  
But he can’t help it. He needs the rush of nicotine in his blood, the taste of tobacco on his lips. He’s addicted, he can’t deny it. But it helps him calm down when his emotions get out of control and he’s distressed. Like now.  
He tries to imagine how it’ll be to work with someone like James as he lights a cigarette and pulls on it. He exhales a white cloud of smoke.  
He feels intangible, like that cloud. He has worked for several years now, and managed to play in some good movies. He has received awards for his performances, and nice reviews. He knows he’s good. But James is better. “Way better” he says, his words floating in the grey sky along the smoke.  
At least, that’s how he feels. Self-depreciation has always been part of his character. And people still think of him as a confident man. What a joke. He laughs as new tendrils of smoke escape from his nose.  
He stops thinking then and just enjoys the moment, crushing the butt of his cigarette under his heel when he’s finished.  
Time for a second movie. Fate – and the order of the DVDs in the pile – has chosen Macbeth, Macbeth it will be.

He’s never been a big reader, but he knows it was written by Shakespeare – he’s not stupid, thank you very much. Not his personal favorite author though. He’s not sure he has ever read this particular play. Maybe as an assignment at school, and that’s why he forgot. Nevertheless, he has been obligated to study a bunch of the Bard’s other works that he remembers of, and the amount of drama and stupid reactions in them still bothers him, more than twenty years later. His favorite may be Much ado about nothing. Of course, it’s a comedy.  
Judging from the DVD box, this version of Macbeth is both modern and set in a restaurant. Really? Did the writers think it’d be a good idea to change most of the original plot? He’s always been wary of those smart adaptations of classic literature. He remembers Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet and how he left the theater with a mitigated opinion about the movie, when it was released. Sure Branagh may be THE specialist of Shakespeare in the cinema industry. But what was the point in setting this version of Hamlet in the 19th century? Just to have beautiful costumes and bright decors? At least the director had been adamant in using the whole play and not just bits of it, for the first time in a movie. Never before had Michael spent so much time in a movie theater…  
He goes back to the DVD still in his hand. Now the question is: why did they make a cook of Macbeth? The play is about power. What power is there in a kitchen? Power over eggs and vegetables?  
‘Okay, I should stop thinking about the film and simply watch it before I lose the will to do so’ he thinks. But first, he needs a refill of his mug – and the coffee must be cold now, so he’ll use the microwave too – and maybe some coke for later.  
When everything he needs is on the table, Michael sits back on the couch and starts the film.

ShakespeaRe-Told. Hopefully the movie isn’t as bad as the pun.  
And now garbage. A whole dump. What a stinky start – pun very much intended, though not better than the title. But Michael can’t help himself, and laugh loudly when he realizes that the three witches from the Scottish Play had become three ugly garbage collectors. “I don’t know what the writers had smoked, but I want a sniff of it. Must be good and strong stuff” he says to the TV.  
He’s about to fast-forward when the scene changes and McAvoy appears on the screen. Opening a fridge full of beers. Half naked. The character grabs a bottle of milk and drinks it. The way James’ mouth wraps around the neck of that bottle is very distracting. And a few seconds later, Michael’s eyes fall on the tight leather pants James is wearing. What have they done to the nice young fellow he had met? He even has fake tattoos on his wrist and his biceps. Not that he’s not nice anymore. But he’s like… a biker. With bad taste. It makes Michael think of his own bike, stored in the garage below. He hasn’t used it for many months and he suddenly misses it. Later though. He has to finish the movie first.  
They went all the way with James’ costume. Along with the kitchen garb, he now wears a black wife-beater, in stark contrast to his fair skin. The actor has also chosen to display an empty gaze, a void in those usually bright blue eyes, but with a spark of anger. He’s imposing, almost scary, in spite of his height. THIS can be the knight from the original play, the fighter afraid of nothing. Michael likes that.  
He’s sipping his coffee when Macbeth casually kisses a guy. Michael chokes on the beverage. ‘I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in the play’ he thinks. But what a good way to show the relationship between Macbeth and Banquo.  
Apparently, the writers weren’t as full of shit as he thought at the beginning. There might be some good ideas in this script.

The movie goes on, and Michael notices some interesting things.  
First, they finally let James use his natural Scottish brogue, and it sounds nice. It suits him very well.  
Next, the level of dedication McAvoy put in learning how to move and react in a professional kitchen is akin to his own – when a particular role asks for particular skills, he likes studying. Because it’s his job. If he wants to make his character believable, he has to believe in him himself. And in order to accomplish just that he has to know everything the character is supposed to know. If James’ view on the job is the same as his, they might be on to something good with this X-Men movie.  
Finally, James can play doubt and madness beautifully. The anger had disappeared, but the void remained. One moment, he looked like a lost child, the next he was a psychopath. The way his character looked at his wife when she showed no remorse, like he didn’t know her, was amazing. Their relationship was never the same after what they had done, and both actors showed their estrangement with little touches and hints, until they were complete strangers to each other.  
Cleanliness was a recurring theme, and now setting the movie in a restaurant seems appropriate. Cleanliness of the kitchen, obviously, but of the hands of Macbeth’s wife too, and the three garbage collectors finally made sense.  
And really, despite all the ugly things Macbeth had done, Michael can’t help and feel sorry for him at the end. Because James was able to create an empathy for the character.  
Michael puts back the DVD in its box and sits back on the sofa for a moment. The movie was good, actually, and the actors splendid. But all he can think of at the end is: leather pants. Well, shit.

Michael definitely needs a break now, if he can’t forget James’ bum in nicely fit shiny trousers. He looks at his watch: quarter to six. He’s still hungry. He takes back his mug to the kitchen and empties the coffee maker in the sink. He has thought about his bike earlier, and now is as good a time as any to try it.  
He changes his sweater for an old T-shirt and grabs his leather jacket in the wardrobe. He should dress properly for a tour on his bike, he knows, but he doesn’t plan to drive fast, or even to leave the city. He puts his boots on before taking his papers, his keys, his gloves and some money to buy a sandwich. He’s all set for a little drive in town now.  
He goes down the three floors of the building to the garage where his bike is stored. There’s no one in the stairway, but noises come from the other apartments – he almost forgot there was life behind the walls of his own flat. Looking for isolation and anonymity has its downside: you feel alone most of the time. Intuitively he knows the feeling isn’t reserved to young actors in their march to fame; living in a modern city can do that for you too.  
Down in the garage, he flips the light on. He takes a few seconds to admire the German beauty that is his motorbike. He could argue that the fact he bought a BMW has nothing to do with his origins, but he won’t. Maybe the way his father has always praised the German industry is to blame. Though he doubts his father’s love for the brand has anything to do with his own origins either. The old man has just always loved the best. Michael could have bought a Triumph – created by a German manufacturer and owned by BMW, but still a British company – or any Japanese machine, but he decided to buy something from the country he was born into.  
He sighs contentedly and mounts the bike. A turn of the keys and it roars to life. Before slipping his thick gloves on, Michael puts his hand on the body and feels the purr of the engine against his palm. He really likes German engineering – they know how to turn a mechanical noise into a delicate music.  
He puts his helmet on and leaves the garage, free-minded and energized.

*****

On a whim, he drives to the Shakespeare’s Globe. From the Southwark Bridge, he can see the imposing theater. It reminds him of the few times he was on stage and how much he liked it. Filming a movie is different, though he appreciates it all the same. Between the direct contact with the public and living day and night with his co-stars for several weeks, he can’t choose. If he could do both without exhausting himself in the process, he would gladly. As it is, he wants to make the most of what cinema has to offer. Maybe later, he’ll go back to his first love.  
Once in front of the Globe, he parks his motorbike and goes to the bank of the Thames. The grey water rushes under the bridge, sweeping away boats and trash likewise. Michael bends over the rail and lights a smoke. The area is quiet – today’s performance ended a few hours ago and the theater is now empty.  
When he’s finished, he throws his cigarette in the river. One amongst many. He feels sorry for the fish for a second.  
When a loud noise comes from his stomach, he forgets about the fish instantly.

He hops on his bike and drives away. The streets are busy – end of the working day. He rides slowly and carefully, zigzagging between buses and cars and black cabs.  
He finally stops in front of a sandwich shop to grab something to bite. The place is simple and neat.  
At the till, a young woman welcomes him with a large smile.  
“Hello, sir. May I help you?”  
He looks at the display. Everything looks good, but he knows better than to believe what he sees. “What is your best sandwich?” he asks.  
The girl seems to think about it for a moment, and answers: “The Parisian is nice. It’s ham and cheese, with lettuce.”  
“I’ll take one, and a brownie, please.”  
When he’s served, he pays and heads to the door. His hand is on the handle when the girl calls him back. “Sir, can I ask you a question?”  
“Of course.” But he already dreads it.  
“Are you the guy from the Tarantino movie? With the Nazis?”  
No one should be able to recognize him. Well, so much for anonymity. “I guess I am” he answers with a shy smile. He’s still not used to interacting with his fan.  
“Could you please sign me this?” she asks as she holds a napkin and a pen out to him.  
He takes them, and writes his name on the thin white paper. It’s smudgy and almost unreadable, but he did as he was asked.  
The young woman thanks him profusely, and he leaves the shop. Time to go back home and watch one more movie. At least he’ll have something to eat while he does his homework.  
Twenty minutes later, his bike is back in the garage, and his sandwich is on a plate in front of him, on the coffee table, a factory-produced chocolate-thing next to it. He serves himself a large glass of coke, and puts the next DVD in the player.

The film has just started – he hasn’t really read the title on the box, but the picture suggests it’s something with costumes – when his cell phone rings. Looking at the screen, he sees his mother’s number, and that she’s already called four times. ‘Fuck, I forgot the damn thing when I went out.’ He’ll have to deal with a furious mum then. He answers the phone.  
“Hello, ma.”  
“You’re back.” Not a question and said in an even voice. But Michael knows it’s accusatory.  
“Yes. I wanted to call you later this evening.” And that’s the truth. She won’t believe him, though. Because she’s upset. Lovely.  
“Why didn’t you call us yesterday? That’s when your plane landed, isn’t it?”  
The way she included his father in that pronoun – us – tells him the man is in the same room, listening to the call. “Hi, dad!” he shouts.  
“Hello, son” says a distant voice through the phone. His father doesn’t sound much worried.  
Michael goes back to the conversation with his mother. “Listen, ma. I arrived very late and I didn’t want to take the risk to wake you up. And I have work to do. For my next role.”  
He doesn’t develop the kind of work he’s assigned – she wouldn’t consider watching movies as a real job, that’s for sure – but it’s enough; her tone changes instantly. “Really? Tell me more about it.”  
“You remember the super hero flick I auditioned for? I got the part!”  
His mother squeals at the other end of the line. Has he ever heard her make that kind of sound before? ‘I don’t think so.’  
“I didn’t know you were a comics fan” he adds, chuckling, before she interrupts him.  
“Where? When? How long?” The usual questions. She doesn’t really care about the kind of role he has to play. She’s confident enough that he chose well and that he’ll be able to do a great job. It’s good to know someone has so much faith in him.  
“Mostly in England. For a few months at least. And the first reading is on Monday.”  
“Okay. I won’t waste you r time.” He loves his mother. Very much. She gets things really fast. “Can we expect you sometime this month?”  
“Maybe. I’ll let you know. Love you, ma. Bye, dad!”  
“Bye, Michael. Make them cry.” And she hangs up. Never ‘Good luck’ or ‘Work hard’. She knows her son too well to say that kind of encouragement.  
Even years after his first role, he still doesn’t understand the meaning behind that last sentence. Does she want him to make people cry because it’s a dramatic role? Or because they’d be impressed by his incredible talent and cry from desperation? Someday, he’ll have to ask.

It’s till the opening credit when he goes back to the movie, but the title eludes him.  
When he hears the name Jane, though, he gets it. It’s that film about Austen then. He wasn’t sure if he was tempted to watch it, in spite of the recommendations, that type of fictionalized biopic not being his favorite genre. But eh! Sometimes you just have to go out of your comfort zone!  
The scenery, the costumes and the actors seem good enough. Maybe he’ll be surprised. Although he doubts it. He takes a bite of his sandwich. The bread is a bit old, the cheese too salty, but it tastes rather fine nonetheless. He swallows it with a big gulp of coke.  
When James appears on screen, he’s once again shirtless. Does the guy ever stay dressed all through a movie? And he’s boxing. He doesn’t seem build for that kind of sport though. Fair skin, angelic face and not really muscled, he should be an artist. But in a matter of a few seconds, his character proves to be smug, pretentious, frivolous and stupid. Plus he flirts with a prostitute. The embodiment of the character you love to hate.  
Since he’s supposed to be Jane’s love interest in the movie, the ‘love’ part would have to outmatch any spite the audience may be feeling against that Tom Lefroy James impersonates. What an interesting challenge. “You’re a talented bastard, you know” Michael says to the screen. “You’ll be able to pull it off nicely, won’t you?” He startles when he discovers the character is a lawyer. Of course, one of the most despicable occupations. They tried really hard to make an awful person out of that Tom Lefroy.  
Has he heard Limerick? James plays an Irish man again? No accent this time, though, just a regular soft English one. It’s still disturbing to hear that kind of voice coming from McAvoy’s pretty mouth. Nope, not pretty. Far from pretty. He hasn’t watched that mouth at all. ‘Why would I?’ he asks himself.  
Michael bites in the sandwich and drinks half of his glass of coke, cheeks burning. He shouldn’t think about James’ features. He’s a man, and soon will be a colleague. There’s no need for those uncalled-for thoughts. Lusting after your co-star was never a good idea. Besides, he prefers women, he always had. Guys are okay, and he’s kissed or exchanged hurried handjobs with some, but that’s it. Messing around is okay. He never fell in love with a man, or wanted to try more than touching.

‘Oh god, Lefroy is an ass’ Michael thinks later, watching the rest of Becoming Jane as he finishes his sandwich. Not an ounce of respect or politeness. And still James is charming. He’s arrogant and proud and charming.  
And then, it clicks. They’re trying to make Darcy’s model of Lefroy. He hasn’t read Pride and prejudice – not his cup of tea – but he has watched the BBC series when he was younger. His mother insisted. Colin Firth was perfect. And Michael remembers some of the things Darcy did, and it matches Lefroy’s behavior. At least now he understands the idea behind the movie: Jane’s life inspired her for her books. Not completely original, but not too common either.  
Now Michael watches the movie with a new point of view, searching for little hints of which part of Pride and prejudice was influenced by the author’s life as it is depicted in Becoming Jane. The ball, the old lady, the stupid cousin… And of course, hidden behind his arrogance, Tom Lefroy is secretly in love with Jane. Michael can’t wait to see his confession.  
Ah a cricket match! And Jane plays. She wouldn’t want to be left behind. She isn’t a weak woman. But most of the time, Michael’s attention is on James. It’s the first time he can appreciate how the Georgian era’s outfit suits the man. The vest fits his broad chest and his legs are nicely clothed in those pants. He must be some kind of chameleon: be it contemporary flick or costume drama, James always looks the part. He’s a timeless beauty. Truly. Michael sips at his glass of coke as his lips are dry.  
He almost drops the glass when James jumps naked in a river, his pert little ass just above the water when he reappears. James’ back is a work of art, both slim and toned, his large shoulders and narrow waist forming a perfect V, the firm globes of his ass tensing here and there when he walks, just above delicious thighs.  
Michael’s pants suddenly feel too tight, and he shifts on the couch to relieve some of the tension in his crotch. He hopes for an instant that that was a body double, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to refrain from molesting his co-star on set.  
He understands the look on Jane’s face on the screen, he may have made the same. Damn.  
He puts the movie on hold and goes on the balcony for a minute, waiting for the fresh night air to cool his blood a little.  
When he’s back in the living room, he resumes his watching, and soon Lefroy whispers the word ‘ecstasy’ in Jane’s face, and Michael’s half-erection comes back full force. Only his willpower prevents him from taking himself in hand. He’s not a hormonal teenager, for god’s sake!  
He somehow manages to cool down and watch the rest of the movie with his hands out of his pants. It’s not a small victory, considering the way James’ voice quavers when Lefroy confesses his love for Jane, or that small almost-kiss in the hallway. Michael can’t deny James succeeded in making the audience fall for Lefroy, even after such terrible premises.

Now, after watching three movies with his future colleague, something is sure: James’ talent brings out the best of the people he works with. The chemistry between him and each of his co-stars is magical, and average actresses such as Anne Hathaway or Keeley Hawes become magnificent by his side.  
There’s no doubt now that McAvoy will be able to pull off that kind of magic again in X-Men. Michael is even elated that he’ll appear better than he really is, thanks to that talented man.  
He takes a look at his watch. It’s already half past nine. The day had flown faster than he had thought. He was supposed to fast-forward most of the films, but he ended up watching them whole. He doesn’t regret it: even when he didn’t find them good, James’ performance was always perfect and brought an interesting shine to the films.  
That guy doesn’t play a role, he IS the role. Every time. Of course he has some recognizable tics – which actor hasn’t? But on the whole he’s able to disappear behind the character. And Michael understands now why he couldn’t remember seeing him in Atonement. It must have been the same trick. Why remember James McAvoy when that was Robbie Turner on the screen all along?  
James has also a way to express deep feelings. He doesn’t need words, he doesn’t need props or unnatural movements – a close-up on his face is enough, everything going through his eyes. And not because he stares too much, or moves his eyebrows – which he does too – but because the real feeling is, like, written in those bright blue eyes. He feels sad, he feels in love, he feels angry, and that’s why the audience can believe it. How he manages to pull that off is still a mystery, and no doubt the root of his talent. Michael just wishes he could do the same.  
He looks at the dark grey sky and the shy stars playing hide and seek with the moon. He’s used to going to bed much later, but jetlag has fucked up his regular sleep schedule. He needs to get up some time in the morning tomorrow, not in the middle of the afternoon. The best thing to do now is burying himself in his bed and sleep.  
He turns off the TV and leaves the room, the faint glow of the moon reflecting on the screen.

*****

Michael wakes up at around 9. It’s not really early, but it’s still earlier than yesterday.  
The rain splatters against the windows. The streets are busy with life, people walking around under their umbrella, swaying rounds of colors in the middle of the grey street. The love/hate story between Londoners and the rain is an old one, and they aren’t afraid to go out when it pours.  
For the past few months, Michael has only known California’s sun. He feels he has forgotten the ways of London. He’s dreading the moment he’ll go outside and freezing water will wet his clothes and run down his back. Just thinking about it makes him shiver.  
He’s about to get out of bed when his stomach growls. “But there’s nothing to eat in the house” he says to his deaf belly.  
He’ll skip the shower and go grocery shopping now, so he can have a nice breakfast when he’s back. He puts on the clothes he had yesterday. No bike this time, he’ll walk to the shop at the end of the street.  
When he opens the building’s door, the rain is down to a drizzle. It’s still enough to dampen his hair. He curses when a gust of wind blows, the drops of water on his face suddenly feeling like little pearls of ice. Thankfully the shop isn’t far away, and soon he’ll be back in the warmth of his apartment.  
What he buys won’t fill neither his fridge nor the cupboard for long. But he won’t be here much starting next week. There will be plenty of food on the set, and he can always ask an assistant for anything else he’d want. There definitely are some perks of being an actor.  
As soon as he has paid for his groceries, he leaves the shop. He hasn’t gone far when rain starts pouring again, and Michael is soaking wet as he enters his building.

He bumps into one of his neighbors in the hallway, an old lady with blue hair and a gentle smile. She lives on the second floor, just under Michael’s apartment. When he had arrived in the building, she had come with a pie and welcomed him. He likes her a lot. She has an umbrella in her hands, and Michael supposes she’s about to go out.  
“Good morning, Mrs Foster.”  
“Good morning, Michael” she says with a polite nod. Very early in their relationship, he asked her to call him by his first name. She asked the same but he never could call her Gabrielle. “Is it raining at the moment?”  
“Yes. It just started. Maybe you should wait to go out.” He’s worried. The rain is cold and a strong wind is blowing. He doesn’t want her to get sick.  
She smiles and a mischievous sparkle lights her washed-out blue eyes. “I’m not afraid of a few droplets of water.”  
He wants to tell her that it’s more than just droplets, but he gets it. She’s a proud and healthy woman.  
“And stop dripping on the rug, Michael” she adds with a mock ordering tone.  
He just realizes that he’s so drenched that water’s running down the legs of his pants and floods the hallway. “Oh shit! I’m sorry, Mrs Foster.” When he’s with her, he often feels like a child. She’s imposing like that. But she’s so nice he doesn’t mind being scold once in a while – especially when it’s fake.  
She doesn’t say anything about his language, and leaves him with a wave of her hand.  
He looks at her walking outside under the pour, before he climbs the stairs to the third floor, craving for dry clothes and a hot cup of coffee.  
On his way up, he glances at Mr Amberson, the weirdo who lives on the same floor as Mrs Foster – the guy has half-opened his door, obviously listening at Michael’s conversation with the old lady. Amberson closes the door as soon as he sees Michael, the loud thump reverberating in the stairwell.  
“Good day to you too, Mr Amberson” Michael shouts at the man through the wood panel. No doubt he’s still eavesdropping behind it.

Michael enters his apartment, throws the bag of groceries in the kitchen and goes directly to the bathroom.  
After a nice hot shower, leaving his skin red and raw, he puts on some casual clothes. He feels much better, but he’s still hungry. Even starving. The last time he had so little to eat was when filming Hunger. He doesn’t want to remember that hard period of his life even though it was worth it: he knows he gave his best performance so far in that movie.  
In the kitchen, he takes out the groceries and prepares himself a huge breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausages, pancakes with syrup, a big glass of orange juice and coffee. A lot of coffee. He wolfs down all the food, leaving almost clean plates that he puts in the sink. He’ll wash the dishes later.  
For now, he has something else to do. He hasn’t finished his homework last night. He should go back to them.  
On the pile, the DVD waiting for him seems to be of an action movie. It looks like a B-action flick with much more muscles than brains. Why would James play in that kind of film? Until now, he has impersonated traditional characters with many layers and reasonable motivations. A bi-dimensional action hero is odd…  
But then Michael understands. It’s the challenge. It’s always so rewarding to try something new. That’s why he personally accepted to be part of the mediocre movies Jonah Hex and Blood Creek. Sometimes he still feels ashamed to have participated in such cinematographic monstrosities. Then he remembers how much fun he had when filming, and his shame disappears.  
Well, agreeing or not with James’ career choices, he still has to watch Wanted.  
He settles on the couch once more and plays the DVD.

It’s bad. Really bad. Verging on awful. James’ character is not only bi-dimensional and uninteresting, he is also a coward. Admittedly, it wasn’t unusual to have an anti-hero as the main character, but this one Wesley Gibson was boring as fuck.  
Michael suddenly regrets greatly having listened to some stupid people on the internet. How is that supposed to be a recommendable movie? The voice over at the beginning like in Fight Club, some Matrix bits: it’s not even original. As if copying several successful films would make this one better.  
The story unfolds, and Michael is so bored that he takes the DVD box and reads everything on it. Oh, it’s a comic book’s adaptation. Hopefully, X-Men will be better than Wanted…  
He has watched shitty movies when he was younger. Some flicks with Dolph Lundgren or Michael Dudikoff, even Steven Seagal. His mother was smart enough to force him to see good classics too, and he thanks her every day for that. Maybe he wouldn’t be an actor if he hadn’t seen De Niro’s early work or the Godfather series.  
But THIS particular movie, Wanted, has no redeemable quality. At least, the Lundgren or Dudikoff ones were funny – stupid, but funny. Wanted is pretentious. And James as an action star is ridiculous, preposterous.  
‘He’s still on the short side, but does he seem broader somehow?’ Michael thinks. Eh, James always look the part, he may have exercised to look like this. Michael can’t wait to see the result.  
Okay, he gets it: Wesley Gibson is a loser. Fast-forward now.

“ Wait, what was that?” he says aloud. Michael presses the play button again on the remote. Guns and fight, the fun part begins. But Wesley does nothing besides looking stupid. What the fuck is this movie?  
At least James is perfect at playing the guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Michael suspects that’s how James felt on set, and laughs at the idea of the angelic-faced little Scotsman in the middle of an action movie set, surrounded by stuntmen and muscled guys.  
Better keep watching the movie though. He should concentrate. Ah, that’s funny, considering how stupid Wanted is.  
How the hell did those bullets curve now? Is that even possible? Suspension of disbelief has its limits.  
James keeps the act of the geeky little office worker perfectly. Most of the time, the camera isn’t nice with him, filming in an act where his face is all weird. Way to go, Mr… how do you pronounce the name of the director?  
Michael lets the DVD play and goes in the kitchen. A fresh glass of juice should help him pass the time. And maybe a cigarette. He takes the ashtray with him when he heads back to the living room.

On the screen, Wesley has changed quite a bit. How did that happen? Maybe Michael should rewind a bit to… “Fuck that,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. And I don’t want to watch more of that movie than necessary.”  
Wesley has now a large smile on his face and a new confidence. Wow. It’s amazing how James manages to play both sides of the character so well.  
And yes, he’s definitely broader. Michael can see the shadows of new muscles under the loose shirt. Hopefully it’ll be soon, since Wesley seems to become more of an action-hero. He’s still gullible though. A dumb anti-hero? Why not.  
It hurts Michael to see James with so much blood on his face after he’s been beaten by that damn Repairman. He knows it’s just make up and make believe, but James is too convincing.  
And now some magical bullshit to heal people? Really, if it wasn’t for James, he would have stopped the DVD a long time ago. Actually, he wants so much to do it.  
But he also wants to see James going berserk. Maybe he won’t be asleep when it happens, bored to death.  
“I’m harsh” he says to himself. “Even though the director was too ambitious visually for a mediocre scenario like this one, the rest is fun. Gun fights, beating, car chases, all the ingredients are here to make an enjoyable action-flick.” Michael’s bitter because James is worth much more than that.  
He tries to watch the rest of the movie, shushing his inner critical self.

James becomes rather believable as a hitman, a trained assassin. It’s arousing. Michael recognizes the telltale signs of sexual interest in his lower belly. Who wouldn’t lust after a handsome man with amazing strength? Or after an attractive and talented actor, for that matter.  
It’s just that it is the second time he feels that for James in the space of two days, and it doesn’t bode well for their future collaboration.  
Wesley’s clothes are now more fitting than at the beginning of the film, and James’ muscles can be seen. The man even does some of his stunts himself, for Christ’s sake. James is a temptation Michael has a hard time to ignore.  
Shoulders, arms, chest, every part of him seems larger and Michael dreams of seeing that firm flesh without clothes on. Gosh, a nice tent appears in his pants at the image. Michael unfastens his trousers to free his erection, but he has no intent to do anything about it. He’s just going to will it away.  
Until James shows on the screen shirtless. The man is thick, his muscles well defined, his abdomen flat, his skin oily. He’s the definition of a wet dream.  
Michael groans at the sudden surge of blood in his already engorged cock. The feeling makes him throw back his head, eyes closed, as if it would be enough to forget the appealing silhouette of James. But the image is burned in his brains, sending waves of arousal down his spine.  
He won’t act on it. If he gives in, he knows his months of work with James will be pure torture. Maybe if he resists, his urges will go away and won’t bother him anymore. He wants to believe in that possibility, for his sanity is at stake.

Michael decides that focusing on the story will help him release his tension. He concentrates on the film, lets the action cool his blood somehow.  
Actually it gets rather fun, and for ten incredible minutes, Michael receives his share of guns, knives, explosions and blood. James finally looks like a real action-star, determined, covered with gore and emanating testosterone. He could be a clone of the B-movie actors he had like as a teen.  
The last line is particularly enjoyable, an unusual pep talk. It’s almost inspiring.  
When the credits start, his erection is gone. “Thank God” he whispers, looking at the ceiling.  
Watching Wanted has been a real trial, for both his nerves and his sanity. Michael isn’t sure if he wants to push his luck and put the last DVD in the player. He won’t lie to himself: he’s going to explode and ruin his boxers if James is half as attractive in this movie as he was in Wanted.  
After all, he gets already how James works. He doesn’t need another movie to understand James’ method. The truth is Michael has become a fan of James, and he can’t possibly be a real fan and refuse to see one of his films. Reason and passion battle behind his eyes.  
At the end, passion wins, but Michael will watch The Last King of Scotland – that’s what the DVD says the movie is – after a short break. It’s still raining outside, and Michael doesn’t want to leave the cozy warmth of his apartment. He’s not hungry after the copious breakfast he had earlier. And smoking is out of the question: the cemetery of cigarette butts in his ashtray tells him he has inhaled enough smoke to last a week.  
He still needs a distraction. He puts a CD in the player, and grabs a book from a shelf. A collection of short stories, perfect. He sits comfortably on the couch and starts to read.

Two hours later, when Michael closes the book, he feels refresh. The trouble he has encountered earlier seems distant. He’s ready to watch the last movie of the pile.  
In total contradiction with his title, The Last King of Scotland takes place in Africa – although the first three minutes were REALLY supposed to take place in Scotland. It’s another historical movie for McAvoy, but closer. James is perfect with a seventies look. The chameleon in him can show off once again.  
James can also use his natural accent, and combined with his boyish smile and his hairstyle, he looks much younger than he really is. ‘He’s really cute” Michael thinks. But the character, Nicholas, is a selfish asshole.  
The plot is dense and interesting, so Michael is swept away by the story and almost forgets he has to observe James’ acting skills.  
When Kerry Washington appears on screen, he knows she’ll be the love interest. And he can’t agree more with this choice. He personally likes dark skinned women, and Kerry is beautiful. Her smile is radiant. The natural shine of her skin is also appealing. If he was Nicholas, he would have kissed her already.  
The more Michael learns about Nicholas, the more the doctor seems to be an ambitious and arrogant bastard. And still James manages to make him likeable. His apparent naivety and his pale complexion may help.  
Kerry and James would look good together – an exotic princess and her European artist, kind of. The mix of her dark chocolate skin and his milky color would be… appetizing.

“Yep, I was right!” Michael says when he sees James in boxer shorts. Not an ounce of modesty. Especially since he removes them. On screen. What the fuck? And he goes commando too.  
Michael is so fucked with the upcoming filming. James won’t even realize when he goes too far and embarrass Michael. While Michael will be frustrated all the time, trying to ignore the urge to kiss the shit out of James.  
He gets to distract himself with lots of black beauties later in the movie, and he’s glad. Thinking too much about James is a bad idea.  
His wishful thinking is thrown out of the window when Kerry and James start kissing. It’s hot, it’s passionate. They fumble with their clothes, pressed against a rock. Soon James is again completely naked and, oh God! The dim light creates a faint glow on his round and firm ass. Michael gasps at the sight.  
It takes only a few seconds for him to get hard, and this time there will be no way to will it away. He has to… relieve himself of all that tension. He rewinds the DVD and pushes a button at the beginning of the scene. Then he undresses and takes himself in hand. His palm is fresh against the hot firmness of his erection.  
He watches how James’ hips slaps against Kerry’s thighs. The undulations of James’ back are hypnotic, and Michael moves his hand at the same rhythm, bringing himself closer to release with each rub.  
But the scene is too short, and he pushes another button at the end, creating an endless loop of James pounding Kerry.  
Michael keeps his eyes on the screen, rubbing down his shaft, squeezing the base of his cock when he’s too close. He wants the moment to last forever. He imagines himself, back against a rock, James between his legs, that thick cock – he almost sees it in his mind – buried in him.  
It’s too much for him and he comes, spurting his seed on his hand and on the remote control.

When the afterglow of his orgasm leaves him satiated and nicely dozy, he suddenly feels ashamed. He has broken his own promise. Shit, he has masturbated to the image of his future co-star! The man he will see in two days. The man he will work with for many months. How can he face him on Monday?  
He has more than twenty four hours to figure it out. But for now, he has lost interest in the movie. He’ll certainly watch it one day, because it’s a really good one, but not now.  
Now, he’ll go to the bathroom and wash himself, and maybe go outside for a walk. A long walk in the cold weather of London.  
Yeah, that sounds good.

*****

Epilogue

James doesn’t know what happened with Michael. He’s been flustered the whole day. Not at all how he was at the screen-tests.  
Each time there was an innuendo in the script – and there were lots of them, what were the writers thinking – he would blush, from the roots of his hair to his collarbone, and carefully avoid looking in James’ eyes. But James needed the contact to deliver his lines perfectly.  
He had to put up with only touching: a brush of his hand, a tap on Michael’s shoulder. But even that had seemed too much for the man. It was frustrating. James knew he hadn’t been at his best today.  
Obviously they have different methods of acting. He has to be up to date with Michael’s way if he wants to do better tomorrow.  
That’s why he has bought a DVD on his way home. The only movie with Michael he has found had been Fish Tank. It isn’t usually the kind of film he likes to watch, but it’s not for pleasure. It’s a kind of... homework. Yeah.  
He puts the disc in the player.

One hour and twenty minutes later, while Mia and Connor are making out on the screen, James slips his hand in his pants and jerks off.  
He’s so screwed.


End file.
